Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

ZAYN

T he morning sun was already high in the sky when I slipped into the cab outside the airport. The driver, an older man with a warm smile and a thick Spanish accent, greeted me with a cheerful " Buenos días " before launching into a friendly spiel about the weather and the beauty of Mallorca. I smiled and nodded along, but my mind was elsewhere, tangled up in the mess Hudson had dropped on me with that text last night.

I pulled out my phone and tapped Hayes's name. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

"Zayn," he said with a yawn. "How was the flight?"

"Long," I replied, glancing out the window as the cab sped down the highway. The coastline flashed by, all sparkling blue waters and sun-soaked beaches. "But I made it. What's going on, Hayes? Things sounded tense."

"Tense doesn't even begin to cover it." He sighed. "The board meeting was a disaster. Investors are pulling out left and right."

My stomach tightened. "What? Why? We've been working on this for months. Why would they back out now?"

"Cold feet," he said, the frustration clear in his voice. "They're saying the project's too risky, that the return isn't guaranteed. Some of them are spooked by the economy, others by the fact that it's a nonprofit."

"Fucking cowards!" I growled, then ran a hand through my hair, trying to get my thoughts in order. "But they knew that going in. We've had months of discussions, reassured them at every turn. What changed?"

"That's the thing," Hayes replied, his voice dropping lower. "I don't know. Something's spooked them, and I can't put my finger on it. They won't give me a straight answer."

"Damn it." I clenched my fist, the frustration bubbling up inside me. We'd poured so much into this, believing in the impact it could have, not just for us but for the people it was meant to help. And now, just when we were on the verge of making it happen, it was slipping through our fingers because these fools had no vision. They couldn't see how big this could be.

"Look, Zayn," Hayes said, cutting through my thoughts. "I think it's best we talk about this when you get back. I don't want to ruin your trip any more than I already have. Nothing is going to happen between now and when you get back. Try and enjoy the trip."

My jaw tightened. I hated being brushed off, especially when it felt like the world was crumbling around us. "Hayes, if there's something I need to know, you need to tell me now. I need the full picture. No surprises."

"It's not that simple," he replied, and I could hear the strain in his voice. "There's more to it, but I don't have all the answers yet. I'll dig into it while you're away, and we'll sort it out when you get home. Just give me some time with it."

I exhaled slowly, knowing I wasn't going to get anything more out of him right now. "Fine. But I want updates, Hayes. I don't like being kept in the dark."

"You'll be the first to know," he promised. "Enjoy your time in Mallorca, okay? Try to clear your head. We'll figure this out. Get some sun."

"Yeah," I muttered, but I wasn't convinced. "Talk to you later."

I hung up and stared at the phone in my hand. The rest of the cab ride passed in a blur as I brooded, the beautiful Spanish coastline doing nothing to lift my spirits. I thought back to my night, wishing I could just go back there. Marigold brought a smile to my face.

When the cab finally pulled up to the hotel, a glamorous Spanish resort perched right on the coast of Mallorca, I wasn't in the mood to appreciate the stunning architecture or the breathtaking view of the Mediterranean. All I could think about was the mess waiting for me back in New York, and how useless I felt being stuck here while everything we'd worked for seemed to be falling apart.

I climbed out of the cab and grabbed my bag from the trunk. Rolling it behind me, I made my way toward the open-air lobby. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of the sea. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the lively chatter of other guests. It was the picture of serenity. The kind of thing people dreamed about.

And I was here pouting.

A smiling attendant greeted me at the entrance, offering a sweet and fruity welcome cocktail that I accepted out of habit more than desire. The drink was cold and refreshing if not just a little too sweet.

"Mr. Bancroft," the check-in clerk said with a wide smile as she glanced at my booking information. "Welcome to our hotel. We're so pleased to have you with us."

As soon as she saw my last name, there was a flurry of activity behind the desk, with staff members fussing over my reservation and making a big show of upgrading my room to one of the best suites in the hotel. Normally, I would've appreciated the attention, but today it felt like an unnecessary spectacle, a reminder of how out of place I felt.

"Thank you," I said politely, though I barely mustered a smile. "I appreciate it."

By the time I reached my room, I was tired of hearing the name "Mr. Bancroft" from every staff member I passed. They were doting on me, which I was used to, but it was a little overkill.

I tipped the bellhop and was finally left alone.

The suite was beautiful, of course, with a spacious balcony overlooking the water and every luxury amenity I could possibly need. But all I wanted to do was throw my bag down and bury myself in work. I might be a little bit of a workaholic. I believed in the motto of work hard, play harder.

Typically, I did play pretty hard.

My reckless reputation tended to be exaggerated on social media, but there was always a kernel of truth to the stories.

I stepped out onto the balcony, loosening my tie as I looked out over the waves. The view was breathtaking, even for a seasoned traveler like me. Yet, my mind kept drifting back to New York, to the crisis that was unfolding without me.

I took a deep breath, trying to force myself into the here and now. For just a moment, I allowed myself to enjoy the salty breeze and the beauty that stretched out before me. Palm trees swayed in the wind with birds flying around in the hopes of finding an easy snack.

After a few deep breaths, I went back inside. I hung my suit jacket in the closet and changed into something more comfortable—a pair of linen shorts and a light shirt, slipping into a pair of loafers that seemed appropriate for the locale.

"When in Spain," I muttered to myself, trying to summon some enthusiasm for the situation. But it was hard to shake the feeling that I should be back in New York, dealing with the crisis.

A soft knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. When I answered it, I found another member of the staff.

"Yes?"

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Bancroft?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said.

They were really laying it on thick.

"We have a casual cocktail hour for our guests on the beach," he said. "Please feel free to enjoy."

"Thank you for letting me know," I said.

He nodded and walked away. I hoped it wasn't going to be like this the whole time. I didn't want to be that high maintenance.

I closed the door and had every intention of staying in my room for the night. I'd rather just brood in peace, but something made me change my mind. Maybe it was the knowledge that sulking in my room wouldn't solve anything. Whatever it was, I found myself grabbing my room key and phone and heading downstairs.

The walk to the beach took me past pools filled with playing kids and lounging adults. Music drifted through the air along with the scent of grilled seafood and sunblock. I could hear the distant hum of activities—beach volleyball, paddleboarding, people laughing and enjoying the sun.

I had been to plenty of beachside resorts. No matter where the resorts were in the world, they were all pretty much alike. Palm trees, pristine sand, and aqua waters. It was all beautiful.

As I reached the edge of the beach, I surveyed the area. I stood on a higher elevation, looking down at the cocktail hour in full swing below. Guests were all mingling with drinks in hand. My eye was drawn to a couple canoodling at the edge of the crowd.

I felt a shiver of jealousy. I didn't know why I was jealous. People were free to be couples. I saw loved up couples all the time.

But this time, it made me a little bitter.

I had experienced that last night. I wanted it again.

I had tasted that sweet, intoxicating dance of desire and comfort, of knowing looks and shared smiles. It had been very, very brief, but it was a connection I had never felt before. Marigold hadn't been like the other one-night stands in my past. Once the morning after rolled around, I rarely wanted to come back for more, but I was straight-up missing this woman.

I sighed and tore my eyes away from the couple. I didn't want to look like a creep. Maybe I wasn't really in the mood to mingle with people at happy hour.

I wondered if they had a sour hour somewhere for grumpy pricks like me.

Any other day, I would be scanning the crowd for an eligible woman to take back to my room for the night. That was me. I was reckless in all ways. I loved women. And women loved me.

But tonight, even the thought of indulging in my usual habits felt alien to me. A part of me still craved the thrill of the chase, the heat of passion, but an equally strong part couldn't forget the warmth I had found last night. It was a different kind of warmth, a soothing one, a sort that made me feel at home.

The sex had been hot, but it was the time on the plane and the dinner that really made the sex hotter. It was the thrill of a new connection. My eyes moved over the crowd once again.

And that was when I saw her.

No. Freaking. Way.

Amidst a sea of brown and blonde heads, one bright red stood out like a beacon. I would recognize that head of hair anywhere.

It was her.

Marigold.

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face as I watched her. Her fiery hair caught the sunlight as she chatted with a group of people. Her laughter carried up to where I stood. I had no idea she'd be here, no idea our paths would cross again so soon, and yet, here she was like a gift.

This had to be fate. I knew we were coming to the same city, but I never imagined we would be at the same resort. Didn't that make this some kind of divine intervention? What were the odds?

And wouldn't it be stupid if I let this chance get away from me?

One more night. That was what I told myself. One more night with her and I would get her out of my system.

That was assuming she wanted to see me again.